Life and Times of the Master Thief
by les deux it
Summary: Ch. 3 up. The life story of Gentleman Jim Stacey, his journey to Vvardenfell, and the rising of the faction we all know as the Thieves Guild.
1. Chapter 1

**Life and Times of the Master Thief**

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters from the Morrowind franchise, although I'd like to.

That look in Anele's eyes could well easily disturb the common man. She usually never bore such an anxious look as the one she beheld now, but she had a good enough reason to. The sun had begun to set far out into the sky, signaling a time where most of the working Redguard class returned from doing Imperial bidding. It had been a calm day after all, but Anele had her mind set on the tax gold which where due at these times. Times were rough, a fact everyone in the country had felt, and it was hard to see her household paying this money off easily. The tax collector would not be pleased.

She heard a rummage from outside the wooden door. Anele frowned at the figure at the doorway.

"Anele, dear," Said the man, "Good to see you home. Have the tax collectors come by yet?"

"No. It's quite a good thing, too." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Jim, we're short on our levy payment. What are we going to do?"

Jim Stacey smiled. "No need to worry, my dear. I have it all under control." Having said this, Jim Stacey searched within his battered and soiled shirt an elaborately embroidered guar skin pouch. This he tossed to his impatient woman.

Anele felt the weight of the small bag in her hand. She unfastened the drawstrings tied around it and observed the contents within. "Oh my…" She breathed.

"Jim Stacey, where on the large lands of Tamriel did you get this gold?"

Jim Stacey smiled even more, revealing nothing of the matter. Anele looked up at him with curiosity.

"Only the wealthy Imperials who administer the order in Sentinel have pouches like these," Anele remembered. Then with a ghastly look said, "You didn't steal this, did you?"

"Of course not," Jim Stacey responded with a casual tone, but he knew that he could not explain this. "What does it matter? We have everything settled. Relax. What has been gained is ours now."

Jim Stacey waited for Anele's reaction to his somewhat believable response and noted her stature to calm down a bit. She placed the small pouch upon the battered wood table. Jim Stacey went over to her, holding her small frame in his embrace.

"Come on, let's go to sleep."

Jim Stacey did not fair any better the next morning. In fact, he himself had been quite paranoid since the partaking events yesterday. It was true that that small article of wealth had indeed been stolen with his hand from some anonymous rich man. He felt it was the only option he had left. He loathed seeing his dear Anele and himself living in such poor conditions, always not having enough, working long hours in order to meet Imperial demands. Jim Stacey did not want anymore of it. He felt in his heart that he deserves wealth. He deserved to live comfortably. Not only he, but also all the Redguard population deserved better. Hammerfell had gone down in shambles, but Jim Stacey refused to go down as well. That was the basis for the theft.

Of course, had he told this to Anele, she would have never accepted it.

It was time to work the field out back. Jim Stacey didn't like to work so tediously out in the sun, but if Anele never complained, neither would he. He headed inside the farmhouse to fetch his tools.

A man clad in fine Imperialistic clothing approached the small house as two guards took post outside. It was the tax collector, Mirdinus Claerul. A man not so very popular in those parts.

"Are you the man called Jim Stacey?" Asked the man as though this were his first time in his profession.

"Yes, sir. I am."

"Pardon me, may I come in?" He waited for no response and made his way in, observing the small space that was Jim Stacey's dwelling. His distaste was obvious.

"I've the tax payment, sir. I will get it with no more delay."

Jim Stacey carefully went for the pouch, cautious of the man's watchful eye upon the small bag.

"Quite a fine pouch you have in your possession."

At this, Jim Stacey froze. "T-thank you. From a guar that I had witnessed being killed when I was a child. A gift from my mother." Jim Stacey said as he gave the tax payment to Mirdinus.

"How nice. A Redguard tradition, I'm sure." Mirdinus stared at Jim Stacey sternly. "I had a pouch similar to that one. I'm afraid it had been stolen."

"Oh…bandits, I suppose. Many thefts recently, I believe." Jim Stacey fidgeted.

"Yes, quite. Well, thank you. With this money you help not only all your people, but also the whole of Tamriel." Mirdunis left.

Jim Stacey ran to the window of his home, took a peak behind the weathered tapestry watching Mirdunis walking back to the guards. The tax collector pointed back to his house while talking to the two armored men. Jim made out faintly the words that formed at Mirdunis's mouth:

'He's the one' 

The two guards nodded, taking the tax collector's leave and began walking toward the farmhouse.

Oh no! thought he. It was his pouch that I've stolen! They were coming to get him! He couldn't go to prison. He could NOT. He was a good man. It was not _fair_!

There was no other alternative. He HAD to get out of here. He grabbed the troublesome pouch and any other fortune he could find and made a bolt out the door. The guards yelled and wasted no time chasing after the running Redguard. The three ran into the main commercial part of Sentinel, the part of town where the true interaction of people was. Jim Stacey had to lose the guards, but how?

There were masses of people surrounding what appeared to be a busy open market. Jim Stacey managed his way through the crowd, zig zagging and dodging the men close behind. He made his was into an alleyway hoping the guards hadn't seen him.

When the coast was clear, he had finally conjured up his plan. He was going to leave Hammerfell. He only wished to say goodbye to Anele one last time. He'd find her working at the fishmonger's hall like the good woman she was. Poor, poor Anele. He exited the alleyway and back on to the market square where he last saw the guards. Walking his way around, Jim Stacey entered the compartments that reeked with the stench of slaughterfish.

He asked around for Anele but could no afford to waste a minute on waiting. He himself dashed upon to the second level where the storage clerks were. Anele was there, counting shipments of crates to be made overseas.

"Anele!" Jim Stacey exclaimed exasperatedly. He clutched her arms firmly to get her attention.

"Jim, what's wrong?"

"Listen, I may have to go for a while, and I might not be coming back soon…"

"Oh, Jim, stop joking around." She began to try setting herself free from Jim Stacey's gripped hands.

"Listen to me, woman!" He said loudly. "Take this, take this key. I have some saved treasure stored within some tree outside of town. I want you to have it. And for my sake, get out of Sentinel, get out of Hammerfell even!"

"Jim Stacey, have you gone mad?"

"No time to explain, dear. I will miss you." He gave her a quaint kiss on the cheek and ran for the window. He carefully jumped his way down the ground level but had grabbed once again the attention of his pursuers.

Alas, Jim Stacey was just about out of ideas. Where could he _go?_

Just then he spotted a traveling ship that had departed about a half league away. Having some idea, Jim Stacey made a mad dash. A man who appeared to be the shipmaster could be seen walking upon deck.

"How much to travel along?" Jim Stacey called out as he ran.

"120 gold." Came the far reply. This was an opportunity Jim Stacey could not refuse.

Having paid the shipmaster on board, he immediately entered below decks to avoid being seen from the guards. Out of breath, he slid against the wall as his chest heaved uproariously. A sudden dread came over him. He indeed had gone mad.

However, Jim Stacey was apparently not alone under decks. Having noted various eyes watching him, he could not help but smile at the lot of them and at himself.

"So," He began somewhat out of breath. "Where are we headed?" It was an indirect question he hoped would find an answer.

"Didn't you find out?" Replied an Argonian, one of the few Jim Stacey had ever seen in his life. "This ship's headed for Morrowind."


	2. Chapter 2

Boredom upon the traveling sail ship, the Merrtedom as it was called, became intolerable. Jim Stacey had already lost count, but he did suppose that it had been at least 4 days on sea. Already he thought he was hallucinating. His destination, this so called Morrowind, or Vvardenfell, or whatever these people on deck called it…where was it? The name indeed was somewhat familiar since Jim Stacey had eavesdropped on some guards talking about some _'_great houses' waging war. Whatever that meant. In any case, although he admitted that Hammerfell was at his lowest point economically and socially, never in his life had he imagined leaving the country. Leaving Anele was an absurd thought too. But there he was, on a ship headed for a strange land. He knew she would survive better without him. He only hoped that the hidden treasure he left with her was still intact. Jim Stacey wasn't so sure if actually leaving Sentinel was any good of an action plan. Perhaps he was too quick on his judgment. Whatever the situation, going back was now out of the question.

However, it was hard to bear with the fact that an outwardly simple act of theft could lead to one's own fleeing from their land. Already, he tried getting used to the idea that he would be beginning a whole new life. The stealing of the Imperial's pouch had not been the only thievery Jim Stacey had committed. In his earlier years, there were a number of things that came into his possession in this secretive way: expensive shirts, working tools, daggers, and other items of significance he kept away hidden lest Anele would become suspicious. In all these instances, he was lucky not to have been caught. Precautions were taken carefully, plans and escape fully detailed and practiced in his mind. Jim Stacey was a fast learner and strived to work well when sneaking. He figured he got pretty good at it, too, although he was no expert at it still. But he succeeded in something not many did.

It was merely by an unknown factor that let Jim Stacey's whereabouts be known to the Imperial tax collector. It wasn't his fault. He didn't know he let himself to be discovered. Besides, this was the first time. There were first times for everything. Just as long as he made sure he wasn't caught again, he was all right.

Now on this trip, Jim Stacey realized there was quite a bunch upon the Merrtedom, journeying just as he was. He found it startling to be around the different races of Tamriel, for he had never grown accustomed to be around such ethnicities. There were feline-like Khajit on board, a face painted Nord looking much as if he had come from war, a few Redguards Jim Stacey recognized from Sentinel, a single lizard-like figure, and a handful of Dark Elves. The Dark Elves made Jim Stacey a little ill at ease. Those intimidating red eyes and dark skin were so much different to look upon as opposed to the usual Redguard race; he didn't want to seem rude plainly staring. If he was going to this Morrowind place, he had to grow used to this. In the mean time, to avoid talking to anyone, Jim Stacey spent most of his time on deck, gazing out into the darkening sky.

He believed there was no one around and liked it better this way, by himself, so he could actually think straight for once. As if he actually could.

…Jim Stacey heard the distant squeak of wood approaching his way. It became gradually louder, until it stopped. He felt a firm grip upon his shoulder trying to turn him around. With an instinct, Jim Stacey immediately turned and seized the arm, tossing the figure in such a way that it landed on the floor. When he looked down, he laid his eye upon a male Dark Elf staring up at him with a face of absolute infuriation. The creases in his dark face stated the obvious annoyance.

The Dark Elf got up, dusting his simple shirt. He stared at the Redguard. "A storm is brewing." He said as he looked at the night sky. A few large droplets landed on Jim Stacey's skin. "It would be best if you get inside."

Jim Stacey furrowed an eyebrow in suspicion, keeping a slight guard stance as his fists clenched. "Why would an individual like yourself care about my well-being?"

"I don't." Said the Dark Elf bluntly. "They are the shipmaster's orders. Next time I'll know not to deliver it to you personally, but through someone else." He referred to the fall he had just taken.

As soon as the silence between them had developed into an awkward presence among the two, the Dark Elf took his leave rather reluctantly. He wasn't like the other Dark Elves on board, his clothing and his speaking mannerisms were by far more conspicuously different, almost as if as though he looked to be less of an outside worker. _A trader? Who knows_, thought Jim Stacey, _a peculiar sort he is._ Could he be after him?

There was no more to do upon deck. It had begun to rain, and Jim Stacey had heard the distant rumble of thunder in the sky. The hull did seem the only place in which to resort to. He was getting tired, anyway.

Within the compartments below the decks, a saccharine smell had filled Jim Stacey's lungs, a thick and sugary aroma as opposed to the bitter saltiness of the sea wind. Although an odd white fog had faltered his vision within the dimly lit area, he could see the faces of the rest of the fellow ship travelers engaging in some sort of small talk. With peculiar pipes in hand, the men had their eyes fixed on the wandering Redguard noting his physical gestures. But soon they forgot about his presence. Jim Stacey found an available bedroll to rest in over at a corner covered with some cobwebs.

"Aye, this here's good moon sugar." Said the Nord anonymously, as he inhaled through a small hole in the pipe. The white skinned man breathed out slowly through his mouth in an O shaped manner. There were no response to his statement, but it seemed like the Nord had paid no mind to it. He rambled on senselessly as everyone else attended to themselves.

_Moon Sugar?_ Thought Jim Stacey as he rested on his side upon the uncomfortable bedroll. Moon Sugar was an addictive substance prohibited in Hammerfell, and it was doubtful any law-abiding Redguard within the country had it in their possession. Jim Stacey had been tempted to try the substance to see what was so wrong about it, since he was under no jurisdiction anymore, but judging from the red-rimmed eyes of the Nordic man, he figured he did not wish to become so…delirious, so to speak.

"What say you, Frundihl," said the Argonian to the Nord in a joking manner, "About the troubles plaguing Morrowind? I hear the Houses are at each other's necks once more."

"Ha! _Houses!"_ He exclaimed in a tone of distaste. "As if they ever benefited anyone in anyway! Hear now, in the end they will all dissolve!"

"I don't know about that. The House Hlaalu seems to be exceedingly down on the situation. The guilds, however, take no part in this dilemma although bribery for support seems to be ongoing."

"Schlaalu, Shedoran, Shelvanni, they all strive for dominance," The Nord laughed. "This simple barbarian cares not about such affairs."

Jim Stacey frowned in bemusement. Houses, guilds, to talk of these topics were foreign to him. Apparently the situation over in Morrowind was dire, but he couldn't be so sure about something like that. He continued to stare and at the same time pretend to ponder his own thoughts, but this act caught the attention of Frundhil.

"You there," He hiccupped, directing himself to Jim Stacey. " You. Dark skin. Redguard, yes? Ah, fine place, Hammerfell. Not like Morrowind, no, too hot, but fine place."

Jim Stacey said nothing.

The Nord continued. "Silent type, eh? First time traveling? I can tell. Innocent eyes. But it seems as though you committed a crime!"

Jim Stacey's eyes widened. Was he that predictable? He shook his head. "Impossible."

"Ah, do not be in denial for I, Frundihl, have done the same."

"Ho-ho! Yes, for the past 15 years!" Called out a hoarse voice, causing a round of laughter from those inside. Jim Stacey saw nothing funny, finding no desire to laugh. Instead, he turned to his other side and closed his eyes, ignoring witty remarks from the other men. It was embarrassing to be in that position, he felt so diminutive both in experience and in knowledge. It came clear to Jim Stacey that these passengers were mostly comprised of smugglers, beings who had little regard for the law. True, Jim Stacey shared the same sentiment, but he aspired to be more than just another smuggler or thief. If he were to partake in a new beginning, his would be different. He would become someone significant, a whole new man.

"…Some people just don't deserve the comforts in which they possess, its why thievery is a necessary act of justice…"

The Nord's voiced droned continuously as Jim Stacey began to fade away in a deep sleep. Thievery an act of justice? Social ranking was sure enough a discriminating way for all beings. In reality, didn't Jim Stacey deserve all the luxuries and expenses as much as any other rich man? The wealthy, they flaunt their fortune and make a mockery of the hardworking class as an amusing sport. There is so much injustice in that kind of society.

Perhaps a life of thievery did not sound so bad.

Yes. He would become a new man indeed.


	3. Chapter 3

For the next few days, as it seemed, Jim Stacey found himself in the most tedious of circumstances. He often walked aimlessly on deck, overlooking the broad and endless sea for hours upon hours whilst having nothing else to do to keep him occupied. The strong winds mounted the waters into a rough tide, often making Jim Stacey seasick and irritable, with the occasional vomiting overboard. This everyone noted but dared not comment. It was embarrassing enough to be sick amongst a band of individuals who surpassed Jim Stacey in both experience and physical dexterity. Although he tried with all his effort to pass as the outdoorsy type, the adventurer fit for expedition, throughout the course of the travel, he did so in vain. Everyone else saw through his strained motives and his novice behavior.

Jim Stacey did not say more than a few words to anyone. He was afraid to since he was never the type to make new friends, or perhaps even new enemies, for that matter. It was if as though Jim Stacey's existence on the ship seemed insignificant, without any importance whatsoever. These thieves seemed to be part of a scheme Jim Stacey could not intertwine with. They were the threads that made up a whole tapestry of fellowship, duty, and honor. They traveled together like herds, looking out for themselves and their own. But, given from a variety of clues Jim Stacey observed, most were under the wing of Frundihl the Nord.

Frundihl's demeanor had changed since some nights ago. The Nord was more aggressive, not like his uproarious, intoxicated state. He spoke brashly, and, despite any utterances he had made to Jim Stacey of justice in connection with thievery and all those pretty things, he regarded the Reguard with much indifference. Jim Stacey figured the lack of moon sugar played a role in this situation. It seemed as though the substance was a calming stimulant for the crude barbarian. Everyone had seemed to be less lively around the Nord now given that it seemed as though most of the travelers were part of Frundihl's group of thieves. They feared his taunts, his full-blown discrimination. But they did not complain.

_How sad it must be_, Jim Stacey thought_, to fear the power of just one man._

Now, as Jim Stacey realized, he preferred the Nord better delirious than not. Jim Stacey was not a fan of tyranny, and clearly Frundihl must have been a tyrant of some sorts, acting as the leader, empowering those who stood in his way. It made the Nord no better than the Imperials in Hammerfell. So why did such men have such powers as to strike fear in the hearts of many? Jim Stacey did now know, but he would not allow it to occur. He dreamed to have an alliance of his own, to be part of a community in which survival was based on trust and teamwork, not by the dictating of a leader. He aspired for an unbreakable, something he hoped to acquire soon.

But, side from these trivial issues, once more Jim Stacey stared out to sea. He let his mind flow like unperturbed streams, all of which met at one single ocean, the greatest thought. Anele. How he missed her terribly, much more than he had expected to. Time did not go by without a single remembrance of that impatient woman he left behind, her face had been an everlasting imprint on his mind throughout the days. Thinking back to the past, despite the traditional kind of woman Anele was, Jim Stacey hadn't shown her much appreciation for her hard work. This he regretted so. It was she who had to put up with Jim Stacey's shenanigans or his silly ramblings of riches and gold. He had been so childish, so naïve. Had he not met her, he would not have gotten far in his petty existence…

…Or would he?

That was the problem with the poor today. They've no ambition to prosper into beings of superior status. They fear change, they fear punishment, and if only bravery and courage were to enlighten them of the finer things in life, then they would change just as Jim Stacey vowed to change as well. Then again, fear had taken Jim Stacey by the whole, causing him to run away from life as he knew it.

He sighed inwardly to relieve himself of anxiety. The clouds had turned grayer, and the waters had grown rough as time progressed, signaling a storm brewing not too far off just as the crewmen predicted. There were nights so completely dark that it made walking upon deck seemed like a task too impossible to fulfill. Very often Jim Stacey had found himself weary caused by seasickness or the lacking of food. Rats indeed had managed to find their way into the feeding bins, or any other place for that matter, spoiling every edible grain obtainable. But desperately hungry mouths had devoured even those spoiled morsels, which were too valuable to put to waste. Already were there protests to land the boat ashore, if at least for a few hours for food supplies, but the shipmaster had negated that notion, claiming they were close enough to their destination. Most refused to believe this, however.

Jim Stacey kept himself occupied within the cabin for the time being. He caught a glimpse at the Dark Elf whom he had tumbled earlier, but he did not let his eyes wander too long. Both individuals did not speak, although Jim Stacey could've sworn that the Dark Elf would've wanted to share a conversation. They communicated somewhat telepathically, acknowledging each other's presence with a quick stare with the eyes or with a sudden blink before each of them continued amusing themselves. Jim Stacey could not help but marvel at the peculiarity of such a Dark Elf whom seemed to have an aura of professionalism and class within his character. He sported expensive clothing, hand made netch leather boots, and long brownish hair sleeked back above arched brows. A dark face rigid with a finely chiseled narrowness showed signs of pure elegance. There was a high possibility he came from noble linage, so why would he be traveling amongst low living knaves?

_I surely would not be so crazy as to travel among thieves like these if I were rich_, thought Jim Stacey as he rubbed his chin in thought. Then again, anyone might have their reasons for doing things.

The pitter-patter of rain against the wooded structure of the ship had moved most of the passengers in to a sleeping mode by the time Jim Stacey finished his recollecting. Bodies sprawled against the floor in bundled heaps as the sound of the storm brewed on outside. Jim Stacey figured he'd sleep himself. Grabbing his bedroll, he settled himself between its folds and quickly drifted off in sleep...

* * *

Sometime in between illusions and dreams, a disturbance had rudely awoken him. The ship violently rocked to and fro, causing the hanging lanterns to flicker wildly and swing from their ropes at the same rate. The rain was beating fiercely, and the winds seemed to shriek rather than whisper. Jim Stacey sat up. Something was not right. What was that noise he heard?

Looking around the darkened room, it appeared that no one else had seemed to notice the odd gushing sound coming not too far off from the area. Most were sleeping soundly. Stretching his arms out before him, yawning, Jim Stacey tried to reposition his right leg, which had fallen asleep itself, but had stopped when he felt his foot was wet. Soon he realized that his pant legs had been damp for some time, too. _Odd_, he thought.

Then to his side, he noticed a dark trail leading off into a corner on the other side of the hull. Jim Stacey could not guess what constituted this trail for the lamps were too dim to provide any light to make proper assumptions. Jim Stacey got up cautiously as to make as little noise as humanly possible, pausing for a second making sure no one else was awake. Their bodies were lifeless upon the floor as only the sound of their mingled breaths and snores seemed to cancel out any other disturbance. Jim Stacey's muffled footsteps sought their way beside the leading trail, balancing themselves against the violent rocking of the ship. He noticed the trail, or rather now considered a large puddle, had narrowed itself, disappearing into one point of the wall. The gushing noise was prominently heard from here.

There it was. A large spider like crack in the wood had caused a considerable leaking of water. It was so peculiar that such a sturdy structure would be susceptible to break down. Then again, what would Jim Stacey know about ships? The leaking must have been going on sometime through his sleep, and from the looks of it, there were no signs of its cease. Unless…

He motioned his hand, fascinated, slowly to touch the broken surface. His hand became drenched in water. Warm water. From the sea.

"What are you doing?" Came a voice from behind, making Jim Stacey jump with fear. Jim Stacey turned around, surprised to see the richly Dark Elf and his intimidating persona. His face was contorted into a look of questionable bemusement.

"I," Jim Stacey began. "I was looking at this. A leaking." He pointed to the crack in the dark corner.

The Dark Elf furrowed his eye in observation as he groaned in distaste. "I knew something cracked."

Jim Stacey looked at him strangely. "How do you know?"

"I looked outside. Turbulent storms, rough seas. The slaughterfish tend to swim in large schools. They banged against the ship numerous times while everyone was asleep."

"Where were you? Did it wake you up immediately?" Jim Stacey whispered.

"Obviously, yes. I've been laying on my bedroll for the last hour."

Jim Stacey said nothing. He gazed at the mess before him and considered how much of a problem it would become.

"What now?" Asked Jim Stacey, being provoked out of anxiety than of curiosity, hoping to come into some accordance with the Dark Elf. Despite the circumstances, the Dark Elf merely stared at the young Redguard, bereft of emotion and without any consoling word.

"We wait," Said he, rather composedly. "If best."

But all of Jim Stacey's senses had been minimized. He did not hear what was said, but instead sat alert, capturing all hidden sounds as best he could.

The Dark Elf rolled his eyes at the figure before him, "You should go to bed again. This ship won't go down so easily. At least…not yet."

Jim Stacey shot him a discerning eye, sensing the satirical connotation, and genuinely not being pleased by it. "How comforting."

Even after the Dark Elf returned to his spot across the area, Jim Stacey could not force himself to move from his present place. _Something_, he sensed something, was approaching from underwater like an undetectable looming presence. It came closer, then sped away, as if the object premeditated a course of action, thinking, calculating. It had to be something big, or so Jim Stacey thought, because anything small in size would not have struck such preoccupation, or a sense of wonder, within him. This he deduced, and as he sat still noting these patterns of unseen movement, wondered what he himself should do. He had the urge of waking everyone up, but feared that his preoccupation might seem like an insignificant worry. As fatigue overwhelmed him, he consciously acknowledged that there was nothing better than to drift off to sleep once more.

_If the Dark Elf had been so confident, why can't I?_ Thought Jim Stacey.

He got up as best as his burdened legs could manage and followed the water trail back to his bedroll. As long as he not find himself drowning in water, he'd worry about things later.

Midway into his transition, as if by an unimaginable force so great, a violent jerk caused the ship to rock sideways, causing Jim Stacey to topple over a few of the sleeping bodies before he landed on top of one of Frundihl's men. The tables, chairs, and crates all shifted in a heaping mess to one side, as the lanterns above flickered its last remaining light, leaving the entire hull in an abyss of darkness and confusion.

"What is this?" Roared Frundihl. "Why do I awaken in order to find myself wet and in darkness?"

Jim Stacey shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. The splashing of water around could only mean one thing.

"_I should have known_." Jim Stacey overheard a voice, the Dark Elf's.

Upon his knees, Jim Stacey felt around the floor with his hands, grasping a hold a dagger left unattended. He shoved it in between his belt, keeping in mind those moments in need of one.

"Argh! Damn you all!" Frundihl yelled, forcing his weight between bodies and knee-deep water. "A light, quickly!"

There was no hesitation to the demand. A travel lamp was lit, which gave off a bluish glow to the moving figures. Shadows danced against the walls in a synchronized frenzy as Frundihl' men, upon seeing the giant hole in the wall, dashed through the water, rummaging through messes and corners in order to save what little belongings were available. Frundihl himself, who had just about tripped over a floating chair, continued to bark unintelligible commands in vain. Jim Stacey stood frozen in his position, mortified. He did not know what to do.

Frundihl, despite his weariness, made his way up the small steps toward the ceiling hatch, which led to the deck. Others followed suit behind him without pausing to consider the dangers the storm beheld. Jim Stacey, too, although being the last one, made his way out. The storm had not yet calmed itself into a moderate downpour, and the skies were still blanketed with the same dull grayness as previously. The spliced rain and winds were like bullets against the skin, keeping Jim Stacey from opening his eyes fully.

The deck was sleek with water. The waves crashed against the side of the ship, spewing ocean water upwardly. The sails, unfastened, flew wildly overhead, as it hit some men to Jim Stacey's side, knocking them overboard.

Then it approached. A large dark shadow swam swiftly in the water, encircling the men who had been thrown overboard. With the blink of an eye, a large tentacle grabbed those who had been trying to swim away and sunk them underwater with no apparent reappearance. This Jim Stacey watched with a horror-stricken face, a sea behemoth feasting on its small prey.

"Alright, men!" Frundihl exclaimed with a battle cry, addressing all those who remained on deck. "We must kill this monster!"

With this, creature protruded its head from underwater, exposing its numerous shiny scales and its slaughterfish-like teeth. Its head snapped back and released itself, coming increasingly closer to the sinking ship. Upon seeing this monster, a few men took several steps back in fear. Jim Stacey, however, grasped his newfound dagger rather embarrassingly, finding that everyone else held more intricate weaponry.

_But any weapon is a suitable weapon in battle_, he reminded himself.

Poised as any other warrior, Jim Stacey stood his ground alongside everyone else, ready to attack.


End file.
